Fic: Hail To The Victors?
Sep. 9th, 2007 11:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
namasteTitle: Hail To The Victors?
Author: Namaste
Summary: More fluff, sequel to Go Blue in which House and Wilson have a standing bet, and the University of Michigan football team sucks. Unfortunately only one of those statements is fictional. About 600 words.
Really guys, how about sucking less. I don’t want to write an entire series.
“Defense, noun,” Wilson read as he walked toward House. “The act or action of defending, defensive play or ability.”
“Nice dictionary. Which one of your wives bought it for you?” House turned to the nurse’s station, put a file in the tray.
“A means or method of defending or protecting oneself, one’s team or another.”
“You finished?”
“Almost. I wasn’t sure if anyone from Michigan knew the meaning of the word.”
“Not on the football team, apparently,” Cuddy muttered from the other side of the desk. “Thirty-nine to seven?”
“Defense, transitive verb,” Wilson looked back down at the dictionary. Cuddy remembered when he’d opened it during a party maybe six years ago. House was right. It did come from one of his wives. “To take specific defensive action against an opposing team or player, or an offensive play.”
“What does it say in there about the manly art of self defense?” House asked. He grabbed for the dictionary. Wilson pulled it back.
“Wait,” he said, “I marked something else you should probably know.” He flipped past several pages. “Offense. Noun.”
“House knows all about offending,” Brenda muttered, and took House’s file from the tray.
Wilson ignored her. “The means or method of attacking or attempting...”
House grabbed the book from his hands.
“... to score.” Wilson looked up.
“Pay him, and maybe he’ll shut up,” Cuddy said.
“I offered to go to the ATM on Saturday,” House said, and tossed the dictionary onto the desk. “He told me he’d be happy to wait.”
Wilson put his hands on his hips, rocked a little on his feet. “I was waiting for the right moment,” he said. “I’m ready now.”
House stared at him.
“A hundred bucks,” Wilson said, and held out his hand. “Of course, Notre Dame is unranked, so ...”
“Not that you’d understand the concept, but beating Notre Dame is all about pride,” House said. “I wouldn’t want to sully that principle with something so crude as money.”
“So ...” Wilson waggled his fingers.
“So ...” House said.
“Now what?” Cuddy asked.
“Ice hockey,” House said. “I hear they even play it in Canada.”
“Don’t,” Cuddy warned. “Michigan has made it at least to the quarterfinals in the national championship every year for the last 17 years.” She closed the file she was reading and handed it to Brenda.
“You’re not helping.”
“I wasn’t trying to.”
“Softball,” House said. “We wouldn’t want to exclude the women.”
“National champs two years ago, first in the regionals ten of the last thirteen years,” Cuddy said.
“Forget football,” House turned to her. “I’m intrigued as to why you know so much about women’s sports.”
“And she plays golf,” Wilson said. “Ask her something about the LPGA.”
Cuddy smiled. “What happens on the golf course, stays on the golf course.”
House stared at her. Blinked once, twice. He turned to Wilson.
“Fine,” he said, “football.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet. Wilson held out his hand again as House opened the wallet. “Of course, the smart bet would be to let it ride,” he said, with the bills still between his fingers.
“Not again.” Cuddy shook her head, handed Brenda another file.
House ignored her. “The Northwestern game is in two weeks.” He pulled the bills out a little further, fanning out five twenties so Wilson knew he had the cash. “And the odds are in your favor.”
Wilson studied House’s face. He lowered his hand.
“I hired two idiots,” Cuddy muttered.
“I could have told you that years ago,” Brenda said.
Wilson nodded. “Let it ride.”
Author: Namaste
Summary: More fluff, sequel to Go Blue in which House and Wilson have a standing bet, and the University of Michigan football team sucks. Unfortunately only one of those statements is fictional. About 600 words.
Really guys, how about sucking less. I don’t want to write an entire series.
“Defense, noun,” Wilson read as he walked toward House. “The act or action of defending, defensive play or ability.”
“Nice dictionary. Which one of your wives bought it for you?” House turned to the nurse’s station, put a file in the tray.
“A means or method of defending or protecting oneself, one’s team or another.”
“You finished?”
“Almost. I wasn’t sure if anyone from Michigan knew the meaning of the word.”
“Not on the football team, apparently,” Cuddy muttered from the other side of the desk. “Thirty-nine to seven?”
“Defense, transitive verb,” Wilson looked back down at the dictionary. Cuddy remembered when he’d opened it during a party maybe six years ago. House was right. It did come from one of his wives. “To take specific defensive action against an opposing team or player, or an offensive play.”
“What does it say in there about the manly art of self defense?” House asked. He grabbed for the dictionary. Wilson pulled it back.
“Wait,” he said, “I marked something else you should probably know.” He flipped past several pages. “Offense. Noun.”
“House knows all about offending,” Brenda muttered, and took House’s file from the tray.
Wilson ignored her. “The means or method of attacking or attempting...”
House grabbed the book from his hands.
“... to score.” Wilson looked up.
“Pay him, and maybe he’ll shut up,” Cuddy said.
“I offered to go to the ATM on Saturday,” House said, and tossed the dictionary onto the desk. “He told me he’d be happy to wait.”
Wilson put his hands on his hips, rocked a little on his feet. “I was waiting for the right moment,” he said. “I’m ready now.”
House stared at him.
“A hundred bucks,” Wilson said, and held out his hand. “Of course, Notre Dame is unranked, so ...”
“Not that you’d understand the concept, but beating Notre Dame is all about pride,” House said. “I wouldn’t want to sully that principle with something so crude as money.”
“So ...” Wilson waggled his fingers.
“So ...” House said.
“Now what?” Cuddy asked.
“Ice hockey,” House said. “I hear they even play it in Canada.”
“Don’t,” Cuddy warned. “Michigan has made it at least to the quarterfinals in the national championship every year for the last 17 years.” She closed the file she was reading and handed it to Brenda.
“You’re not helping.”
“I wasn’t trying to.”
“Softball,” House said. “We wouldn’t want to exclude the women.”
“National champs two years ago, first in the regionals ten of the last thirteen years,” Cuddy said.
“Forget football,” House turned to her. “I’m intrigued as to why you know so much about women’s sports.”
“And she plays golf,” Wilson said. “Ask her something about the LPGA.”
Cuddy smiled. “What happens on the golf course, stays on the golf course.”
House stared at her. Blinked once, twice. He turned to Wilson.
“Fine,” he said, “football.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet. Wilson held out his hand again as House opened the wallet. “Of course, the smart bet would be to let it ride,” he said, with the bills still between his fingers.
“Not again.” Cuddy shook her head, handed Brenda another file.
House ignored her. “The Northwestern game is in two weeks.” He pulled the bills out a little further, fanning out five twenties so Wilson knew he had the cash. “And the odds are in your favor.”
Wilson studied House’s face. He lowered his hand.
“I hired two idiots,” Cuddy muttered.
“I could have told you that years ago,” Brenda said.
Wilson nodded. “Let it ride.”